


Why Is This So Difficult?

by CoffeeAndDreams



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, 007 Fest 2020, 5+1 Things, Community: MI6 Cafe | mi6_cafe, Courting Q, Fluff, M/M, Teamcivilian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeAndDreams/pseuds/CoffeeAndDreams
Summary: Request from the MI6 Cafe Prompt Exchange: "5+1: Five times when Bond tries to give Q flowers but something happens and he has to get rid of them somehow before he can present them to Q (maybe by giving them to someone else or throwing them away etc), and one time when he can finally give the flowers to Q."
Relationships: James Bond & Q, James Bond/Q
Comments: 30
Kudos: 127





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Team Civilian, doing my first 007 Fest this year. Love this prompt!

He had a vision: a plan for how this entire wooing of the Quartermaster was going to go. James wanted a bit of proper courtship—Q deserved is and, given Bond’s reputation, a little patience and thoughtfulness might prove he was interested in more than just a quick shag. Q deserved that.

This week’s project: flowers. Something bespoke and elegant. Bond had spent over twenty minutes in the Chelsea flower shop working with the florist to put together a stunning combination of anemone, ranunculus, larkspur, and greenery. The combined effect was exactly what Bond had wanted—soft whites, shades of blues, and violets. He left the shop feeling rather pleased with himself and looking forward to the flustered, rambling response his gift would elicit from his Quartermaster. Bond wondered if Q knew how utterly endearing and sexy he was when he was ruffled and unsure of how to respond to Bond’s advances. How had no one properly wooed this darling creature before?

His thoughts were violently interrupted by a woman’s scream. Bond spun towards the noise and saw a man trying to snatch a woman’s purse off her shoulder about twenty yards behind him. In seconds, Bond was sprinting down the sidewalk. He dropped the flowers and grabbed the assailant by the forearm, the surprise causing him to let go of the woman’s bag. The thief took a swing at Bond, and the agent easily dodged it, using the other man’s momentum against him. A quick fist to the solar plexus and a right hook to the jaw and the man collapsed onto the pavement. Bond wasn’t even winded. He tugged at his cuffs to smooth out the wrinkles in his sleeves and turned to the woman standing open-mouthed and shocked at the last thirty seconds. A crowd was gathering, and Bond frowned when he realized that, not only had his gift for Q been trampled in the chaos, but there was no way he was going to be able to avoid the lengthy and annoying process of giving a police statement. He sighed and turned to the woman.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, looking for any obvious cuts or bruises. She shook her head.

“No…no I don’t think so. Thank you so much. That was incredible.”

“Right place, right time,” Bond said.


	2. The Second Time

The Second Time was a week after the mugging incident. The sun was shining, and it was the first day that truly felt like summer was close, so Bond selected a mix of aster, sweet pea, and dahlias—cheerful, bright flowers that heralded the changing of the season. It was different than last week’s selection, but just as elegant. Q might like these even more. It was a bold mix of pinks, yellows, and a hint of red. The sweet peas smelled sugary and fresh. They’d bring a joyful shock of color to Q’s otherwise sterile workspace. Feeling confident in his odds, Bond had even made a dinner reservation at the little French restaurant he loved a few miles from Six.

He’d only made it to the crosswalk when his positive mood changed on a dime. The feeling assaulting his nose and eyes was alarming in its suddenness and intensity. It had only happened once before (when he was on a mission in the southeastern United States one spring) but the memory was vivid, and he knew what was coming. Bond was profoundly allergic to something in the bouquet. Bond swore under his breath and glared at the flowers in his left hand as if he could determine the culprit by glaring at it.

By the time he’d crossed the street, he was digging in his pocket for his handkerchief and searching for a bin to toss the flowers into. Bond sniffled and blinked rapidly to try and clear the allergic tears that were quickly clouding his vision. He huffed in frustration and tossed the flowers into a nearby garbage bin just before the sneezing started.

How humiliating, Bond thought, sneezing about every three or four steps as he kept walking. Bloody secret agent brought down by an allergy to his own romantic gesture. A particularly intense fit of sneezing left him dizzy and angry. Bond decided it was time to retreat to his flat (maybe stopping to buy some antihistamine on the way) and regroup.


	3. The Third Time

The Third Time, he actually made it all the way to MI6 before things went wrong. Another week, another trip to the florist. Bond was careful to avoid any of the flowers that had provoked last week’s allergy attack, and he even stood outside the shop for ten minutes to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently selected something that would cause him to start sneezing his head off again. This time he went with a monochromatic grouping of orange lilies, gerbera daisies, and roses. It was a lush, full bouquet, tied in the center with a wide orange ribbon.

It was just after 6pm when he entered the imposing complex of MI6. Bond’s shoes echoed along the marble floors of the secondary lobby past the security checkpoint. Moneypenny was coming in the opposite direction, obviously done working for the day. Her face took on an odd expression—something between tears and a smile. Bond wondered what would cause a ripple in Eve’s normally cool demeanor. He swore he saw actual tears in her eyes when he approached.

“I thought everyone forgot,” she said quietly, eyeing the flowers in his hand. “I should have known you’d remember.”

Shit—Eve’s birthday.

It was Eve’s birthday and he absolutely had forgotten, as had the rest of MI6 apparently. That explained her reaction when she saw him coming into the building with a bouquet of flowers. Bond handed them to her and kissed her on the cheek.

“Of course I remembered,” he said. “Happy birthday, Eve.”

“Thank you, James. I was about to go home and start in on the wine until I stopped feeling bad about everyone forgetting my birthday.”

He was a harsh man, but her bleak plans stung. Bond swallowed down his disappointment. He could bring Q flowers tomorrow. He couldn’t leave Moneypenny alone on her birthday—she was one of three people that tolerated his presence…probably made her a friend now that he thought about it. He looped her arm through his and took her briefcase.

“While I normally don’t object to drinking alone, I can’t allow it on your birthday, Moneypenny,” he said with a wink. “Dinner? You pick, I’ll pay.”


	4. The Fourth Time

The fourth time he didn’t even complete his purchase before the whole thing went to hell. Technically, he didn’t even step foot inside the shop because Tanner called and told Bond that M needed immediately. Honestly, the sacrifices he made for Queen and Country. He briefly considered just ordering flowers and having them delivered to Q Branch, but that would rob him of the thing he was looking forward to the most: watching his dear Quartermaster blush and stammer and fuss with the hem of whatever godawful cardigan he was wearing that day. No, this was an in-person mission that would simply have to wait until he’d returned from wherever M was about to send him.

It turned out he was headed for Zurich and Bond headed down to Q Branch with his dossier in hand.

“Ah, Double 0 Seven. Headed to Switzerland I hear,” Q said, typing away at his keyboard.

“Want me to bring you back anything? Chocolates? A watch?” Bond asked, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face.

“Let’s start with your equipment before trying anything fancy, shall we?”

“You might like fancy,” Bond said, leaning in and picking up some kind of little gadget off Q’s desk. It earned him the eyeroll he was hoping for. Bond actually thought Q might reach over and smack his hand.

“Put that down, please,” Q said. “Now, I’ve got a few things I want to review with you.” He handed the agent a pair of sunglasses and a lighter. “Since I know better than to trust you to read the manuals, let me show you what these do—wouldn’t want you to maim yourself due to sheer stupidity.”

“You’re too good to me, Q.”

“I know,” Q sighed. “It’s a character flaw I must bear.”


	5. The Fifth Time

Nine days in Zurich, two dead terrorists, and one crashed car later, and James was back on British soil. He was sporting a dislocated shoulder and a black eye, but they would heal in a few weeks. The door to the flower shop chimed as he stepped into the flower shop. A woman in her mid-fifties glanced up and smiled,

“You’re becoming my best customer,” she said. “But what have you done to yourself?” she added, pointing towards the sling supporting his left arm.

“You should see the other guy,” Bond said with a smile. She laughed and came around to the front.

“I can only imagine. Alright, what are you in the market for today?”

“Why don’t you decide, Rose?” A flower shop owner named Rose—he’d teased her the first time he came in, accusing her of changing it on purpose. “But none of those—”

“I remember what’s off limits,” she said, heading towards the coolers full of flowers. He’d told her about the allergic attack he suffered as a result of his…second or was it his third attempt at bringing Q flowers. Rose shoved a fluffy white blossom the size of a grapefruit towards Bond suddenly. “Smell this just to make sure,” she said. The corners of Bond’s mouth twitched, and he sniffed the flower. Rose raised an eyebrow and waited until Bond nodded—these were safe. “Just got these in a few days ago. Peonies. Absolutely gorgeous, only get them for a few months each summer. They’re delicate, heat sensitive, but there’s nothing else like them.” She kept up a monologue as she gathered up six white flowers, cut and wrapped them.

Bond was in the elevator on his was down to Q Branch when the gears ground to a sudden halt and he was thrown into darkness. The emergency light flickered on a moment later, and Bond began pushing buttons. Nothing. He sighed and hit the emergency call button but received nothing but static. With one arm still basically useless, he couldn’t even force the door open to see where he was between floors.

“This is absolutely bloody ridiculous,” Bond growled, digging out his mobile and dialing Q.

“Bond?”

“Q, any chance you can get car three in the south elevators moving again?” Bond asked. He could immediately hear fingers tapping.

“Is this a theoretical exercise?”

Bond could hear the smirk in Q’s voice.

“In as much as I’d theoretically like to be out of here sometime today,” he said.

“How do you always manage to find yourself in these situations, 007?”

“What did you call it—a character flaw I must bear?” Bond asked. Q huffed a laugh and did more typing.

“Did anything happen?” Q asked.

“No.”

“Then I’m afraid the best I can do is call maintenance. It’s not a network or software issue. Hope you brought something to read,” Q said. Bond glanced down at the flowers; they were already looking a bit wilted. Even an hour without water and they’d be dead.

“Not exactly,” he sighed, sitting down on the floor and settling in for a long wait and another failed floral delivery.

“I’ll stay on the line with you,” Q said. “Even make you a cup of tea when you’re finally sprung.”

Bond smiled.

“How about something stronger?”

“You shouldn’t be mixing alcohol with what Medical has you on for your shoulder.”

“How do you know what—”

“I know everything,” Q said.


	6. The Sixth Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We come to the end. The world stops conspiring to ruin Bond's plans, and he decided it was worth the hassle.

He was a man on a mission. Bond looked at his reflection in the mirror and knotted his tie, tilting his head one way, then the other, before squaring his shoulders. Enough was enough. He was a spy—a secret agent for God’s sake. He would not tolerate his plans being thwarted again. If he could bring down a terrorist organization, he could deliver flowers to Q.

It had gone so badly so many times, that Bond was beginning to fear it was the universe’s way of telling him this was a monumentally bad idea. While he wasn’t a superstitious man, his failure rate was starting to feel unnatural and suspicious. Today was the day; if he had to haul Rose with him from the flower shop, so be it. Bond slipped into his suit coat, pleased when his shoulder didn’t twinge—first time it hadn’t since being reset in the socket. This was happening.

“You’re either the world’s most romantic man, or you have a terrible habit of getting yourself in the doghouse,” Rose said as he entered the shop.

“Bit of both probably,” he said with a smirk. She put her hands on her hips and glanced towards her coolers like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “Do your best, Rose. I’ve got a good feeling about today,” he said. She hummed to herself as she walked among the bins, picking up stems and, occasionally, putting some back down. When Rose went to the work station she put together a stunning mix of white hydrangea, silver dollar eucalyptus, and a few blush colored cottage roses—large, fluffy heads more rustic looking than traditional roses. Some people worked in oils, some in clay, Rose worked in flowers, and this was a masterpiece.

“Thoughts?” she asked, turning to Bond.

“Your best yet.”

She smiled and knotted a navy ribbon around the stems for him. It was almost exactly the same color as the suit he was wearing and the entire effect was to make Bond look like something from another decade.

Twenty minutes later and he was successfully standing outside the door of Q’s office, having not encountered a single distraction on his trip to the building. He knocked and heard Q’s muffled voice tell him to come in. Bond sauntered into the office and was a little disappointed to see it was “one of those days” when the Quartermaster was deeply focused on a project and unlikely to welcome the distraction. However, when he counted four empty tea mugs, two takeout containers, and a small bottle of eyedrops on Q’s workstation, Bond estimated he’d been working for at least 14 hours without a real break. He suddenly felt much less guilty about tearing Q away from his work.

“What do you need, Bond?” Q asked without ever taking his eyes off his screen or pausing his typing.

“Came to talk to you. Can you afford a break?”

“What time is it?”

“7:15,” Bond said.

“A.M. or P.M.?”

“P.M.”

This time Q did stop typing, and his brow furrowed for a moment. He looked confused, and Bond took a guess.

“You don’t know what day it is, do you?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” Q said, finally looking up. He glanced around his office and then said. “Friday?”

“You got lucky,” Bond said with a little smirk. He held the flowers out to Q. “Here.”

“Oh, those are nice,” Q said, taking them and examining them from different angles like he was examining a piece of fruit in the supermarket. “Do you have a date tonight?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, these will go over well,” Q said, holding the flowers out to Bond. When the agent didn’t take them back, Q looked confused. “Did you need me to place a microphone or tracking chip in them or something? Probably could tuck one of each in these big white ones if you need it. Full recording device would be tricky, but I might have something small enough—wait! This isn’t some off the books surveillance project where you go off half-cocked and I end up getting chewed out by M, is it?”

A fond smile tugged at Bond’s lips. He took the flowers back from Q.

“My mistake. I wasn’t clear enough. Here,” he held the flowers out again. “These are for you, Q.” The younger man took them back, but still didn’t seem to understand. After a few seconds he said,

“I don’t understand.”

“Rumor has it you’re a genius,” Bond said. “Think it through.” Bond watched the little expressions on Q’s face as he went through a list of possibilities, and he could tell the moment he stumbled upon the right one by the way a blush spread up his neck and to his ears. Oh, this was worth the wait and all the failed attempts. Bond’s lopsided smile grew, and he looked inordinately pleased with himself. Q stumbled back a couple steps, blinking rapidly.

“Umm…I don’t…uh, what I mean to say is…”

“Good lord, no one’s ever given you flowers before, have they?” Bond asked, slowly making his way past the desk that separated them. He really was going to have to show Q what it was to be properly treasured and courted. The lovely blush had now spread across Q’s cheekbones and there a slight tremble in the hands that still had an inquisitive grip on the flowers.

“No. No, actually,” he stammered. “If I’m reading this correctly, and mind you, I’m not sure that I am…” Though as Bond smoothly entered his personal space, blue eyes glittering with amusement and something else Q wasn’t ready to label quite yet, he was growing more certain by the moment. “In um…well, in most cases, uh, usually men just send um a picture of—oh dear, I am talking an awful lot.”

Bond chuckled and decided to let Q off the hook. He’d had his fun.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked quietly. Q nodded enthusiastically, as if he was afraid that if he opened his mouth to speak again, he wouldn’t be able to control what he said next. James raised a hand and brushed a thumb over Q’s chin with a featherlight touch. He saw his Adam’s apple bob when Q smiled. “Is this alright?” Bond whispered. Q nodded, and Bond continued to trace a finger along the younger man’s jawline, causing Q to close his eyes in take a wavering breath. He waited until Q opened his eyes and then caught his gaze. “Q? May I kiss you?”

This time he actually managed to whisper a strangled sounding yes, instead of just nodding. Bond raised his other hand and drew Q’s face to him slowly, gently. Warm, dry lips pressed to his once, then again, a little longer that time before Bond broke off the kiss and let his forehead rest against Q’s for a second. Q wondered how such a relatively tame kiss could set him ablaze like it had. Knowing he’d still be an inarticulate fool, Q settled for smiling and adjusting his glasses when Bond straightened up.

“Are you hungry?” James asked, smiling. It was a different kind of smile. Not a smirk—Q had seen every variation of Bond smirk there was. This was unguarded and lovely.

“I am actually,” he finally managed to say.

“Better put those in some water before we go,” Bond said, nodding towards the flowers. “You’ve no idea what I went through to get them here.”


End file.
